Full Name: Rachel Alice Grim From (Hometown): Seattle Gender: F Ethnicity: White Age: 23 Traits (Appearance): Black hair, green eyes, slim figure Reason for coming on the plane: her and her brother are traveling on a vacation to see a tour of (...) Brief History (Criminal record, past): Rachel and her brother, Lloyd, didn't have a very happy family situation. Still, they managed to get through it and currently Rachel is studying medicine, as a senior in med-school. Anything else: N/A
DAY ONE
--Immediately After Crash---
Rachel threw the oxygen mask over her forehead and practically ripped her seat belt open. Lloyd was across the aisle from her, motionless, a metal shard the length of her forearm protruding from his stomach. She jumped out of her seat to her brother’s side, her left leg blooming in pain as she did. She didn’t bother to look down to see if it was broken. She didn’t have the time. She needed to get Lloyd out of here.
Rachel leaned against the top of his seat, not willing to put any weight on her leg, as she tried undo his seat belt. It wouldn’t move. Dammit! Alright, think, think, think…
Her eyes began to dart around the cabin. Christ, she didn’t realize how full the flight was when they boarded. Nearly every single seat was filled with the dead or the dying. Suddenly, her adrenaline was gone and she was just frozen. A statue. Half of the plane was missing, the carpeted aisle soaked with patches of blood, and moans for help crept into her ears.
Something patted her thigh and a shiver passed through her whole body. It was Lloyd, barely conscious, but alive. He tried to croak something out but Rachel couldn’t understand it.
Remember the dead, fight like hell for the living. An idea burst into her head, use some of the broken metal to slice through the seat belt. After all, getting some wouldn’t be very difficult given the sorry state of the plane. She was halfway to the split in the cabin when a loud bang reverberated around her. Her chin snapped to her shoulder as she looked behind her. She was just in time to see the massive fireball completely engulf Lloyd, and a second later, the concussion hit her. The world went black.
DAY TWO
--1 Day After Crash--
The instant Rachel awoke, her heart beat tripled. Where is she? What happened to Lloyd? Will she be alright? Did anyone else survive? Where did they crash? Without the adrenaline of helping her brother, all the questions started to set in, and none of them were answered.
She tried looking around but her head felt heavy, and she had practically no feeling in her limbs at all. Next to her, she heard a sharp rhythmic tapping. It was coming from something that looked almost like a telegraph, though much larger and with a lot more wires. It didn’t take her long to guess that it was probably a kind of crude heartbeat monitor, considering that it tapped every time her pulse thumbed in her ear.
On her left was a small Hispanic woman, appearing to be very focused on something at Rachel’s bedside. She was middle aged with long sliver hair in a braid stopping at her shoulder, and the old pink apron she wore was splattered with fresh blood. The tapping, along with her pulse, got faster.
The woman looked up from what she was doing at Rachel’s side.
“You’re awake?” she said, sounding more surprised than happy.
“I’m sorry, you must be in such a fright right now… and I’m afraid it’s only going to get worse.”
What? What do you mean? Rachel would have spoken the words, but her tongue, like the rest of her body, was numb.
Reading her expression, the doctor continued, “Sorry, girl… I had to give you a sedative to dull the pain during the surgery.”
Surgery!?
The doctor gestured to her side. “Be brave,” she said. “You must see this.”
Rachel followed her gaze slowly, terrified. She saw, hanging over the side of the bed, was her stump of an arm. Her left arm was gone passed the elbow, bloody bandages dressed over the wound.
She stared at it for eternity, she couldn’t look away. It wasn’t real, that she was now a cripple, couldn’t be. Rachel didn’t blink as she took her injury in, and the tapping of the crude heart monitor droned on, getting faster. And faster.
DAY THREE
--3 days after crash--
The doctor, Clara, as Rachel learned her name was, seated herself at the bedside, attempting to fit Rachel with a clunky prosthetic arm. As she watched Clara pull the last of the straps tights, the truth finally set in. Her career as a surgeon was over. All the work she’d put into at med-school, worthless. How could she treat any patient like this, armless, crippled? Hopefully, Lloyd was luckier than she was.
If he even survived.
“And there you go!” Clara said, satisfied. She’d been trying to find the right straps for half an hour.
Rachel tried moving it around a bit. It felt heavy, old, like she was wearing an antique. It didn’t fool her for a second that it was a limb. She straightened her arm and suddenly pain rippled through her body. Her eyes bulged and her jaw dropped in a silent scream. She must have ripped one of her stitches. Jesus-Fucking-Christ, it hurt.
Clara acted fast and quickly undid the straps. When the fake limb was removed, she pulled a tiny dark green pouch out of her pocket. For a second, Rachel thought she saw the words “U.S. Army” on it.
“Here, take this,” she said, handing her a little white pill out of the pouch.
“What is it?”
“A sulfra powder pill. It will help your body fight infection.”
Rachel lifted an eyebrow. “Sulfra power was decommissioned after World War II. It caused brain failure.” What was Clara doing offering it to her?
Something flashed over Clara’s expression but Rachel couldn’t tell what it was.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. She looked down.
Rachel sighed. Nice going, she trying to help you and you throw it back in her face? Bravo.
“Formaldehyde would work better, in my opinion.” she said. “It’s a pretty common disinfectant, but I’d have to take a painkiller before administering it to the wound.”
Clara looked up, confused. “Formaldehyde?”
“Never mind. Guess this hospital doesn’t have any.”
“Folk don’t often go to the hospital much anymore, on account of the risk. You’ve been staying in my home.” Risk? Rachel’s lips pursed. “What do you mean?”
Clara didn’t respond, just stood up and made her way to the door. “Try to flex your arm a bit more, just be careful of those stitches.”
“Wait!” Rachel stopped before she could close the door. She wanted to know if Lloyd survived, but suddenly she was frozen.
“Never mind. Sorry…” she heard herself say. She wanted to know the truth, but she was too afraid of it.
DAY FOUR
--6 days after crash--
Rachel put arm around Clara’s shoulder and the doctor lifted her into a wheelchair. The metal creaked as she settled her weight on it, and for a second she thought it wouldn’t hold her.
“There, that should do until your leg heals.” Turns out her leg actuality had been broken in the crash after all. She was on so much painkillers, she didn’t feel it until two days ago.
The way Clara talked to her, bothered Rachel. It felt like Clara didn’t trust her, like she didn’t know anything about medicine. It was pretty annoying she thought Rachel was the oblivious one. At least she knew what formaldehyde was, and didn’t try to prescribe sulfra powder.
Rachel took a breath and exhaled her irritation. Don’t get mad, she told herself. Clara was trying her best, and all-in-all she was decent doctor. It wouldn’t be right to criticize her.
“…Can I ask you something?” the words slipped out of Rachel’s mouth before she was ready. She was planning on working her way up to this. Damn painkillers.
Clara met her gaze and nodded, her expression suddenly unreadable. Rachel’s pulse quickened and she took another breath.
“Are there any other survivors from the crash?” her voice was soft, barely above a whisper. She had decided that today she would learn about her brother. She was almost positive he was dead, but part of her was still clinging to hope. She had to be certain.
Clara’s voice was even, “You’re asking about family.” It wasn’t a question. She was just saying what Rachel couldn’t.
She nodded and for a long time, Clara didn’t respond.
Finally, she spoke. “I’m so sorry, sweet girl. But you were the only person we could recover.”
“So Lloyd’s dead…” For some reason, when she heard herself say it, in that blunt and short way, it felt like she killed him.
She forced the tears back, but then her memories began flooding in. The games they’d played, the laughs they shared, the bad teachers they were both forced to endure. Everything. And now their history was over, like that. Lloyd was gone and she didn’t even have anyone to be angry at. No one! That, infuriated her.
It felt like heart was cut out. She wanted nothing more than to scream, rip off her prosthetic arm, and cry.
Eventually, she couldn’t hold back the tears any longer and she wept over her bother. God, she couldn’t even bury him.
DAY FIVE
--8 days after crash--
Rachel was sitting in her wheelchair in Clara’s living room, fiddling with her prostatic, trying to get to an itch under the straps. She couldn’t wait until she was off this island and got a real prostatic. As if that would make anything better. It was time for her to realize that this was the new normal. Lloyd had always been good at accepting change while she dwelled on the past. Well, when he was alive that is.
That still didn’t seem real to her, Lloyd’s death. It didn’t seem possible that someone could just be erased, like that, so easily. Part of her almost thought that somehow Clara was wrong and he would one day just walk through the door, completely fine. She hated herself for thinking that. Every time she did, it only reopened the wound. Every night, she cried herself to sleep over it.
She forced it out of her mind.
“Why hasn’t anyone investigated the crash yet?” she was talking to Clara’s husband, Jones. He was sitting across the room from her, reading. From the little interaction she with him over the days, she could tell he didn’t like her very much. Still, whenever she tried to ask Clara that question, she was always met with silence.
“No one is investigating the crash, girl.” he said bluntly.
“Why? It was a major crash, the world would have known about it in hours.”
He shook his head, “Doesn’t matter.”
“ ‘Doesn’t matter’? What the hell does that mean?”
“It means no one is investigating the crash, girl.”
“You know what, fuck you!” Rachel yelled, suddenly angry. “All you two tell me are one-word bullshit answers. I’m sick of it! I lost my fucking arm, my brother is dead. And you two give me nothing but Band-Aid responses! Why the fuck hasn’t the crash been investigated yet!?”
Jones closed his book and took off his reading classes. Emotions flashed over his face so quickly Rachel couldn’t make sense of any of them.
“So because you’ve suffered a bit, you think you have the right to take any moral high ground over me?” he said, clearly struggling to keep his voice steady. “You want answers? Fine. You can have them at the hospital. Now, this conversation is over.”
“What’s at the hospital?” she said. However, he didn’t answer her, just stood up and quickly made his way out of the room.
prosthetic*
(Thanks)
DAY SIX
--8 days after crash--
All Rachel could think about that day was what Jones said to her. What did it mean? He talked like the hospital itself was preventing an investigation, or inside it? Pirates? No, that wouldn’t stop the world from searching for the plane.
That night, when Clara was helping out of the wheelchair into bed, Rachel asked about it.
“What’s at the hospital?” she said, undoing the straps on her prosthetic. She had gotten good enough at it now that she didn’t need Clara’s help anymore.
Clara opened her mouth, hesitated, and closed it. “You talked to Jones didn’t you?”
“I wanted to know why nobody found the crash yet.”
She heaved a heavy sigh and ran her fingers through her hair. “I suppose you’ll just found out anyway. With or without my help, so better I tell you.” She paused, as if looking for a place to begin. “It started with the war. America was looking for fresh recruits, auxiliary soldiers from Brazil in its war with Germany. In truth they were little more than targets for snipers. Most of them didn’t return, my father included…” Her voice trailed off and her eyes fixed on a distant corner of the room. In the dim light, Rachel thought she saw a tear enter her eye.
“But I digress,” she said, bringing herself back. “Obviously, the war wasn’t very popular here. Some even were planning to push the Americans out by force. They never got the opportunity, sadly. A shaman, powerful in the mystic arts, acted first. He attacked the base and laid a curse on the forest that would turn men into beasts it they were there for too long. Before anyone could understand what had happened, he cast a final spell and died. We think that was when he separated us from the world, because from that day forward, every plane or boat we’ve seen has crashed against our coast. We used to try to salvage the technology, but not anymore, for fear of the shaman’s spirit.”
Rachel blinked. What? That was impossible, magic shamans cursing an island? It was just a freighting fairy tale, had to be. However, the way Clara spoke, the way it affected it her, it seemed like she was reliving memories. There was no doubt in Rachel’s mind that Clara thought it was true. But that didn’t change what was possible.
“Th-that doesn’t make any sense. Do you have any proof?” Rachel stammered out.
Clara met her eyes and her expression suddenly saddened. “The jungle. But do not travel there, proof is not worth your life, sweet girl!”
DAY SEVEN
--6 weeks after crash--
“Pass me the bandage, would you.” Clara said, focusing on their patient, a young man with a large bite mark on his forearm. It was too large for a dog, or a wolf for that matter. Briefly, Rachel’s mind flashed over the beasts again, but she quickly dismissed it. She’d been here six weeks and she’s never seen or heard anything to make her believe in what Clara told her. It just wasn’t possible. That said, however, something was still keeping help from arriving on the island. Probably pirates, she been telling herself.
“Bandage,” Clara said again, breaking Rachel’s thoughts. She quickly apologized and fished the bandage out of their dented medical box. By this time, she didn’t have a problem walking and her stump was healing over nicely. Now she simply acted as Clara’s nurse, helping around the village. It was definitely a blow to her self-esteem. Clara didn’t say it, but Rachel knew she didn’t need her. She said that Rachel’s knowledge about current medicine was invaluable. In reality however, that didn’t matter here. Rachel didn’t even know what half of these medicines were.
Clara finished dressing the man’s wound and send him off, telling to come back to her if his wound bothered him. The man hesitated, shot a look at Rachel, then left. Clara let out a chuckle.
“You know, through that whole time, he couldn’t take his eyes off you,” she said with a wide smile.
Rachel smiled herself, but also blushed a little. Since she’d been out walking around the village, she had attached a lot of stray looks. She told herself that it was because she was the only American. A comforting lie. She knew full well why the village men stared at her, they didn’t even notice her prosthetic.
“Are you sure you used enough disinfectant?” Rachel said, trying to change the topic. She only gave him a single pill, and only another three to last the week.
Sighing, Clara shrugged. “I don’t know, we’re starting to run out of medicine. We’ll see in a couple of days.”
“Well, we could get supplies at the hospital.”
“Absolutely not! I warned you about going into the jungle, didn’t I?”
“Would you rather us just run out of medicine? We’re already having to lower our prescriptions, what next? The doses, too?”
“Let me worry about that. I won’t have you dying for nothing! Understood!”
Rachel broke off eye contact and nodded. She hated how easily she just lied to Clara. That night, she’d make ready to head into the jungle. She was tired of being useless and the village need those supplies.
DAY EIGHT
--6 weeks after crash--
It was passed midnight when Rachel saw the pale walls of the hospital. Moss had grown over its sides and what few lights still functioned flicked. She swallowed hard, gathered her courage, and pushed onward. She was tired of being useless. The villagers needed that medicine.
Suddenly, her foot caught a root and she flew forward. Instinctively, Rachel shot her arms out break her fall, forgetting she didn’t have both hands. Her prosthetic dug into the mud and without a firm base, her right hand slid out from under her. In a moment, her whole torso went tumbling down until her forehead smacked against another root. Ow… Stunned, Rachel didn’t move for a while, only rubbing her forehead. Snap!
She heard something break a branch, then another, and another. The rhythm sounded like footsteps and her blood ran cold. She’d been walking through this forest long enough that she was sure that no villager would come out this far. Another survivor maybe? Yes, that’s probably it, after all it couldn’t be a–
Rachel’s mind stopped mid-thought as a strange and deformed silhouette loomed over her, wheezing deep and quiet breaths. The arms looked like pillars, reaching so far down into the underbrush that sh
e couldn’t see any hands. Long, wispy hairs danced upon its hunched over back and its face was pulled into an almost doglike snout. It walked with a limp, as though every step it took was agonizing.
Rachel couldn’t believe her eyes. Clara had been telling the truth, monsters did exist and one was standing mere feet from her.
The beast barely made it past her when it froze, its wheezing stopped. It lifted its head, sniffed, dropped its face against the ground with a thud, sniffed. Then, it slowly picked itself back up and twisted itself toward Rachel, The dim light of the hospital illumining the rotting flesh of its face. For a moment, time stopped, then the beast let out cry similar to human wail.
Rachel was on her feet in an instant and was sprinting through the trees. Behind her, the beast let out wail after wail as it tore through the bushes and thorns with ease. She didn’t look back, but from the sound she could tell it was getting closer. She ran harder.
After what felt an eternity of running, Rachel finally reached the hospital walls. There was a hole just large enough for her to fit through. God, she hoped she could fit.
She dived headfirst between the rubble, her foot just making it inside. However, the beast’s claw shot through after her, grabbing onto her ankle. She kicked and tried to pull herself away,
but it was easily stronger than she was. Rachel’s mind raced and her eyes locked onto a rusted pipe with an end broken off. Her hand scrambled for it and, with a twist of her body, jabbed it into the beast’s forearm. It wailed in pain and released her. She quickly scurried away from the crack. Well, she thought. I’m in the hospital, now how do I get back out.
Beasts
Hospital/ Base
DAY NINE
--6 weeks after crash--
Rachel pulled her flashlight out of her backpack and clicked it on. She was in was certainly inside a hospital room. The moss gave everything a dull green tint, but she’d seen enough operating rooms to know one regardless of wear-and-tear. A molded but still made bed sat in the corner, a counter and sink next to it, and the floor was a checkered pattern of white blue tiling.
She took a few steps further, her heart racing and adrenaline flooding her veins.
She couldn’t believe Clara was actually telling the truth. Beasts! Monsters, here? It was crazy, impossible. Magic was impossible! Well, Rachel, you’re here. Might as well find the medicine too. She swore under her breath. Of course, this would happen, she always wanted to be “helpful.” Dammit.
The door to the room fell off its hinges with the tiniest push she gave and hit the ground and a loud thud resounded around throughout the halls. Rachel flinched and sank back into the room. If there were any beasts inside the hospital with her, they definitely heard that.
She was about to rush into the room across from her. She had get away from the sound, at least in some regard. However the echo of another wail turned her to stone. Too late, a beast had already heard it.
“Pissed!” a voice said. Rachel spun around to find a little girl, leaning out the closest. Thankfully, she appeared completely normal. “You can hide in here. Come on, before the beast sees you.”
Rachel didn’t need any more convincing that. In a moment, she was inside and pulling the closet door shut.
“You want to know how I know this is a good hiding place, miss?” the girl whispered to her. barely heard it. “Because when they ate all the others, they never found me.” The young girl said, raising her voice well out of a whisper. Rachel snapped her head over to her to shush her, but her eyes were only greeted with a skeleton.
Suddenly, it hit her. The girl never was found. She stayed hiding, too afraid to leave, and starved to death hiding.
DAY TEN
--6 weeks after crash--
The beast left and Rachel waited until she couldn’t hear its footsteps before he left the closet. The villagers still needed that medicine, and whether she liked it or not, she was their best hope of getting any. She cursed under her breath as she began to search the hospital rooms, always keeping eyes and ears and open. She’d rather not have any more close calls.
Eventually, she found what she was looking for, the store room. Shelves of drugs filled the entire space and Rachel smiled despite herself. Before long, she had filled her backpack with as much medicine as she could carry. Finally things were going her way.
She was only just outside the hospital when she started to hear wheezing. Her heart sank. A moment later, another beast rounded the corner, the dim light above it casting dark shadows over its face.
It leveled its gaze at her and let out a wail, but a second later a loud bang sounded and its head exploded. Pieces of skull and brain scattered into the night as a few drops of bloods landed on Rachel’s lips. She quickly wiped them away.
“Don’t you move,” a voice said behind her. She turned around to see a man in a tattered white shirt with lean muscles aiming a rifle at her forehead.
DAY ELEVEN
--6 weeks after crash--
Survivor
The sailor pushed Rachel at gunpoint into a massive camp. Just walking past the makeshift gates, she could already count a few dozen people. Though the survivors here weren’t like the villagers Rachel had grown accustomed to. These people, like her captor, were dressed in rags, blood oozing out of fresh wounds, and their skin darkened with dirt. Some moaned in pain on the ground, other barked yells at each other like animals. Are these other stranded survivors?
“Cap-captain.” The sailor said so quick Rachel almost didn’t hear his stutter. The man in front of them was hunched over and wore white sailing garb. “F-found er’ w-w-wa-wanderin the f-f-forest.”
The man, the captain, looked her up and down for a long moment. “We don’t need another mouth to feed, Jack. Kill her.”
“Wait, wait!” Rachel yelled. “I’m a doctor, I can treat your wounded.”
The captain looked back at her captor, Jack. “Is this true?”
“She-she was in-in-inside th-the hospital, sir.” It sounded as though saying any sentence was incredibly difficult for the man.
The captain smiled. “Well then, little doctor, you just bought your life. Lock her up till I think what to do with her.”
Jack jerked a nod and dragged Rachel to cage made of sheet metal. Before throwing her inside, Jack twisted her head and messily kissed her.
“Sl-sleep well, doc-doctor,” he said with a huge grin.
The Captain
DAY TWELVE
--6 weeks after crash--
Rachel had barely fallen asleep when she felt someone shake her awake.
“Get up. We need to talk.” an unfamiliar voice said in the darkness. Outside her cell, she could hardly see the black silhouette of a man. However, she couldn’t make out his face.
Instantly, she pushed herself off the ground. “What do you want?” she whispered, her eyes darting back and forth around the camp nervously. It was instinct. The night was too dark to see anything but the stars.
“I’m Cedric. I’m new here, like you, Rachel. Now, we have a plan but—”
“Wait, how do you know my name, and whose ‘we’?”
Cedric was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, “You have a friend here. Bastard, never stops talking about you actually. Short, blonde, doesn’t shut up.”
She realized who it was immediately. The world stopped. Rachel almost couldn’t believe it.
“Lloyd…” she breathed. “Where is he? How has he been? How many of you are planning escape?”
“Shhh!” Cedric whispered through gridded teeth. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, you’ll see him then. Until that happens, don’t say anything about this to anyone in the camp. Not even me.”
Shouldn’t be that difficult. She didn’t plan on making small talk with anyone here in the first place, and she couldn’t even make out Cedric’s features to recognize him.
Still, she couldn’t stop thinking about her brother. Lloyd. Alive.
DAY THIRTEEN
--7 weeks after crash--
Rachel stood up after tending to another patient. He was probably her near twentieth one already, and it was barely past noon. Sadly, the man wasn’t any different from the other survivors. Deep cuts, bruises, a few broken ribs, bite marks, and completely out of his mind. All through the treatment he had been howling and barking at her like he was dog. She couldn’t help but pity him.
She quickly gathered up her equipment and shot a look over to Jack, telling him she was finished. He smiled a twitching grin and began walking her to her next patient.
Jack was her guard, both keeping other survivors away from her and keeping her inside the camp. Still, Rachel didn’t feel safe around him. As he walked with her, he wasn’t at all subtle about his advances. He’d stutter out flirts, glare at her body, rub her shoulders and neck. It took Rachel every ounce of conviction not to react. She couldn’t be stupid now, not when she was so close to finally seeing Lloyd.
Eventually, she worked her way to a young man, crude bandages wrapping his head and three of his fingers missing off his right hand. His skin was a tanned brown and he was lying face down in the sand.
Rachel rolled him over, steeling herself for another madman. Her patient said, “Hey, sis. Long time no see.”
Her eyes widened at that, and a huge smile burst across her face. It was Lloyd, here alive. Really alive. She wanted to throw her arms around him and hug him but he stopped her by putting his finger to his lips. He glanced at Jack.
“You’re alive.” Rachel whispered, taking the hint. “I—I thought you dead. Died in the crash.”
He shrugged, “Well, it’ll take more than a plane crash to take me out, eh?” He coughed and some blood leapt out of his throat.
“You’re sick.” She said. “What are the symptoms?”
“I don’t care. Someone is probably going to kill me before disease does anyway. There’s a reason you’re worth so much as a doctor, you know.”
“Yeah, I know Lloyd. But I won’t just watch you die.”
Lloyd grinned. Dear God, she missed him. “Hopefully, you won’t have to. Cedric told you about our plan.”
“No specifics.”
“Great, sounds like him. Alright, we’ll catch up later. Right now, pretend to fix me up. I’ll explain everything tonight. Promise.”
DAY FOURTEEN
--7 weeks after crash--
Rachel practically floated through the rest of the day in a state of bliss. Six weeks ago, she couldn’t believe her brother was dead, now it was the opposite. Seeing him felt like a dream, a fantasy she’d been longing to live through. When Jack wasn’t looking, she smiled wide, even laughed a little bit. It felt strange to her, foreign, but she loved it none the less.
As she walked through the camp, treating patient after patient, she kept an eye to the sun, watching it descend. By now it was near sunset. Just a few more hours until she could see her brother again. It still didn’t seem real to her.
Finishing the stitches on another patient, Rachel pushed herself to her feet. Quickly, she hid her joy and turned around to Jack.
“He’s finished,” she said, her voice monotone.
He gave her a big grin and nodded fast. Then he jerked his head back, signaling her to follow. Jack tried not to talk much, she found. The only broken words he said all day was when he was flirting with her. For a moment, she wondered who Jack was before crashing here. Who any of these people were before they lost their minds. Then she thought about what would happen to her or Lloyd if they stayed.
She had to get out of this forest.
Rachel followed Jack back to her cell of sheet metal and he opened the door. Quickly, she stepped inside, eager to finally get away from him.
Behind her, she heard the door close and then the lock snap shut as well. She breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, all she had to do now was wait—
Suddenly, something wrapped around her throat and squeezed hard, cutting off her breath. She tried to scream but only a whimper came out. Struggling, she tried to pull Jack’s arm away but he was easily stronger than she was.
“Re-re-relax,” Jack whispered into her ear. “It-it’ll b-be over s-s-soon.” She felt his other hand inch toward her belt.
Dear God, he was going to rape her.
DAY FIFTEEN
--7 weeks after crash--
Thinking fast, Rachel fired back an elbow into Jack's ribs. He grunted in pain, loosening his grip slightly. She took the opportunity to throw her head back, catching him in the nose. A sharp crack sounded and Rachel felt warm liquid run down her hair. Blood.
When she pushed herself away from him, Jack reacted quickly and threw a fist out into the dim light. Rachel had only just turned around and the blow hit hard in the jaw. Her chin snapped back to her shoulder and for a second the whole world was spinning. Jack was on her again, wasting no time. He swiftly wrestled her to the ground, pinning both her wrists to the sand. Then, smiling, he began kissing her.
Rachel gave fully over to her adrenaline, and pulled her stump out of the prosthetic and jabbed it into Jack's neck. He coughed into her mouth as she raised a knee into his groin. Then, with her hand, she picked up the metal claw and swung it as hard as she could into his face, aiming for his nose. From here, she could tell she had broken it. Jack's nose was twisted at a bad angle and blood was running down his face over his chin.
However, Jack was faster than she thought. In an instant, his arm shot up and blocked the metal. The prosthetic, feeble from age and rust cracked and broke with the impact. Rachel watched as she lost her left hand a second time. Meanwhile, Jack winced in pain for a moment, but quickly recovered. He flashed her a grin, nothing but madness in his eyes. He was loving this, the fight in her.
He raised another fist, knuckles white. Rachel's eyes widened and time slowed to a crawl. However, suddenly an idea entered her head.
With a simple thrust of her arm, Rachel buried the rusted and broken metal into Jack's throat. His face twisted with surprise, then pain, finally settling on anger. He let loose the punch anyway and it smashed into Rachel's eye, making her head go numb. Through blurred vision, she saw him ready another blow, but his arm dropped. Blood oozed out of his neck and just as her eyes refocused, he spat blood into them. It was his last act of defiance.
Then, Jack felt off of her, dead.
Rachel cursed out loud. Whipping her eyes, she pulled the broken limb out of Jack's still bleeding throat. Then, still avoiding looking at the wound, she pulled of his jacket and swung it around herself.
She couldn't afford to wait for Lloyd or Cedric anymore, not with Jack's body in here. She pulled the key to the cell out of his coat pocket and carefully stepped out into the camp, unguarded for the first time.
DECEASED - DAY FIFTEEN
Full Name: Rachel Alice Grim
From (Hometown): Seattle
Gender: F
Ethnicity: White
Age: 23
Traits (Appearance): Black hair, green eyes, slim figure
Reason for coming on the plane: her and her brother are traveling on a vacation to see a tour of (...)
Brief History (Criminal record, past): Rachel and her brother, Lloyd, didn't have a very happy family situation. Still, they managed to get through it and currently Rachel is studying medicine, as a senior in med-school.
Anything else: N/A
DAY ONE
--Immediately After Crash---Rachel threw the oxygen mask over her forehead and practically ripped her seat belt open. Lloyd was across the aisle from her, motionless, a metal shard the length of her forearm protruding from his stomach. She jumped out of her seat to her brother’s side, her left leg blooming in pain as she did. She didn’t bother to look down to see if it was broken. She didn’t have the time. She needed to get Lloyd out of here.
Rachel leaned against the top of his seat, not willing to put any weight on her leg, as she tried undo his seat belt. It wouldn’t move. Dammit! Alright, think, think, think…
Her eyes began to dart around the cabin. Christ, she didn’t realize how full the flight was when they boarded. Nearly every single seat was filled with the dead or the dying. Suddenly, her adrenaline was gone and she was just frozen. A statue. Half of the plane was missing, the carpeted aisle soaked with patches of blood, and moans for help crept into her ears.
Something patted her thigh and a shiver passed through her whole body. It was Lloyd, barely conscious, but alive. He tried to croak something out but Rachel couldn’t understand it.
Remember the dead, fight like hell for the living. An idea burst into her head, use some of the broken metal to slice through the seat belt. After all, getting some wouldn’t be very difficult given the sorry state of the plane. She was halfway to the split in the cabin when a loud bang reverberated around her. Her chin snapped to her shoulder as she looked behind her. She was just in time to see the massive fireball completely engulf Lloyd, and a second later, the concussion hit her. The world went black.
DAY TWO
--1 Day After Crash--The instant Rachel awoke, her heart beat tripled. Where is she? What happened to Lloyd? Will she be alright? Did anyone else survive? Where did they crash? Without the adrenaline of helping her brother, all the questions started to set in, and none of them were answered.
She tried looking around but her head felt heavy, and she had practically no feeling in her limbs at all. Next to her, she heard a sharp rhythmic tapping. It was coming from something that looked almost like a telegraph, though much larger and with a lot more wires. It didn’t take her long to guess that it was probably a kind of crude heartbeat monitor, considering that it tapped every time her pulse thumbed in her ear.
On her left was a small Hispanic woman, appearing to be very focused on something at Rachel’s bedside. She was middle aged with long sliver hair in a braid stopping at her shoulder, and the old pink apron she wore was splattered with fresh blood. The tapping, along with her pulse, got faster.
The woman looked up from what she was doing at Rachel’s side.
“You’re awake?” she said, sounding more surprised than happy.
“I’m sorry, you must be in such a fright right now… and I’m afraid it’s only going to get worse.”
What? What do you mean? Rachel would have spoken the words, but her tongue, like the rest of her body, was numb.
Reading her expression, the doctor continued, “Sorry, girl… I had to give you a sedative to dull the pain during the surgery.”
Surgery!?
The doctor gestured to her side. “Be brave,” she said. “You must see this.”
Rachel followed her gaze slowly, terrified. She saw, hanging over the side of the bed, was her stump of an arm. Her left arm was gone passed the elbow, bloody bandages dressed over the wound.
She stared at it for eternity, she couldn’t look away. It wasn’t real, that she was now a cripple, couldn’t be. Rachel didn’t blink as she took her injury in, and the tapping of the crude heart monitor droned on, getting faster. And faster.
DAY THREE
--3 days after crash--The doctor, Clara, as Rachel learned her name was, seated herself at the bedside, attempting to fit Rachel with a clunky prosthetic arm. As she watched Clara pull the last of the straps tights, the truth finally set in. Her career as a surgeon was over. All the work she’d put into at med-school, worthless. How could she treat any patient like this, armless, crippled? Hopefully, Lloyd was luckier than she was.
If he even survived.
“And there you go!” Clara said, satisfied. She’d been trying to find the right straps for half an hour.
Rachel tried moving it around a bit. It felt heavy, old, like she was wearing an antique. It didn’t fool her for a second that it was a limb. She straightened her arm and suddenly pain rippled through her body. Her eyes bulged and her jaw dropped in a silent scream. She must have ripped one of her stitches. Jesus-Fucking-Christ, it hurt.
Clara acted fast and quickly undid the straps. When the fake limb was removed, she pulled a tiny dark green pouch out of her pocket. For a second, Rachel thought she saw the words “U.S. Army” on it.
“Here, take this,” she said, handing her a little white pill out of the pouch.
“What is it?”
“A sulfra powder pill. It will help your body fight infection.”
Rachel lifted an eyebrow. “Sulfra power was decommissioned after World War II. It caused brain failure.” What was Clara doing offering it to her?
Something flashed over Clara’s expression but Rachel couldn’t tell what it was.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. She looked down.
Rachel sighed. Nice going, she trying to help you and you throw it back in her face? Bravo.
“Formaldehyde would work better, in my opinion.” she said. “It’s a pretty common disinfectant, but I’d have to take a painkiller before administering it to the wound.”
Clara looked up, confused. “Formaldehyde?”
“Never mind. Guess this hospital doesn’t have any.”
“Folk don’t often go to the hospital much anymore, on account of the risk. You’ve been staying in my home.”
Risk? Rachel’s lips pursed. “What do you mean?”
Clara didn’t respond, just stood up and made her way to the door. “Try to flex your arm a bit more, just be careful of those stitches.”
“Wait!” Rachel stopped before she could close the door. She wanted to know if Lloyd survived, but suddenly she was frozen.
“Never mind. Sorry…” she heard herself say. She wanted to know the truth, but she was too afraid of it.
DAY FOUR
--6 days after crash--Rachel put arm around Clara’s shoulder and the doctor lifted her into a wheelchair. The metal creaked as she settled her weight on it, and for a second she thought it wouldn’t hold her.
“There, that should do until your leg heals.” Turns out her leg actuality had been broken in the crash after all. She was on so much painkillers, she didn’t feel it until two days ago.
The way Clara talked to her, bothered Rachel. It felt like Clara didn’t trust her, like she didn’t know anything about medicine. It was pretty annoying she thought Rachel was the oblivious one. At least she knew what formaldehyde was, and didn’t try to prescribe sulfra powder.
Rachel took a breath and exhaled her irritation. Don’t get mad, she told herself. Clara was trying her best, and all-in-all she was decent doctor. It wouldn’t be right to criticize her.
“…Can I ask you something?” the words slipped out of Rachel’s mouth before she was ready. She was planning on working her way up to this. Damn painkillers.
Clara met her gaze and nodded, her expression suddenly unreadable. Rachel’s pulse quickened and she took another breath.
“Are there any other survivors from the crash?” her voice was soft, barely above a whisper. She had decided that today she would learn about her brother. She was almost positive he was dead, but part of her was still clinging to hope. She had to be certain.
Clara’s voice was even, “You’re asking about family.” It wasn’t a question. She was just saying what Rachel couldn’t.
She nodded and for a long time, Clara didn’t respond.
Finally, she spoke. “I’m so sorry, sweet girl. But you were the only person we could recover.”
“So Lloyd’s dead…” For some reason, when she heard herself say it, in that blunt and short way, it felt like she killed him.
She forced the tears back, but then her memories began flooding in. The games they’d played, the laughs they shared, the bad teachers they were both forced to endure. Everything. And now their history was over, like that. Lloyd was gone and she didn’t even have anyone to be angry at. No one! That, infuriated her.
It felt like heart was cut out. She wanted nothing more than to scream, rip off her prosthetic arm, and cry.
Eventually, she couldn’t hold back the tears any longer and she wept over her bother. God, she couldn’t even bury him.
DAY FIVE
--8 days after crash--Rachel was sitting in her wheelchair in Clara’s living room, fiddling with her prostatic, trying to get to an itch under the straps. She couldn’t wait until she was off this island and got a real prostatic. As if that would make anything better. It was time for her to realize that this was the new normal. Lloyd had always been good at accepting change while she dwelled on the past. Well, when he was alive that is.
That still didn’t seem real to her, Lloyd’s death. It didn’t seem possible that someone could just be erased, like that, so easily. Part of her almost thought that somehow Clara was wrong and he would one day just walk through the door, completely fine. She hated herself for thinking that. Every time she did, it only reopened the wound. Every night, she cried herself to sleep over it.
She forced it out of her mind.
“Why hasn’t anyone investigated the crash yet?” she was talking to Clara’s husband, Jones. He was sitting across the room from her, reading. From the little interaction she with him over the days, she could tell he didn’t like her very much. Still, whenever she tried to ask Clara that question, she was always met with silence.
“No one is investigating the crash, girl.” he said bluntly.
“Why? It was a major crash, the world would have known about it in hours.”
He shook his head, “Doesn’t matter.”
“ ‘Doesn’t matter’? What the hell does that mean?”
“It means no one is investigating the crash, girl.”
“You know what, fuck you!” Rachel yelled, suddenly angry. “All you two tell me are one-word bullshit answers. I’m sick of it! I lost my fucking arm, my brother is dead. And you two give me nothing but Band-Aid responses! Why the fuck hasn’t the crash been investigated yet!?”
Jones closed his book and took off his reading classes. Emotions flashed over his face so quickly Rachel couldn’t make sense of any of them.
“So because you’ve suffered a bit, you think you have the right to take any moral high ground over me?” he said, clearly struggling to keep his voice steady. “You want answers? Fine. You can have them at the hospital. Now, this conversation is over.”
“What’s at the hospital?” she said. However, he didn’t answer her, just stood up and quickly made his way out of the room.
prosthetic*
(Thanks)
DAY SIX
--8 days after crash--All Rachel could think about that day was what Jones said to her. What did it mean? He talked like the hospital itself was preventing an investigation, or inside it? Pirates? No, that wouldn’t stop the world from searching for the plane.
That night, when Clara was helping out of the wheelchair into bed, Rachel asked about it.
“What’s at the hospital?” she said, undoing the straps on her prosthetic. She had gotten good enough at it now that she didn’t need Clara’s help anymore.
Clara opened her mouth, hesitated, and closed it. “You talked to Jones didn’t you?”
“I wanted to know why nobody found the crash yet.”
She heaved a heavy sigh and ran her fingers through her hair. “I suppose you’ll just found out anyway. With or without my help, so better I tell you.” She paused, as if looking for a place to begin. “It started with the war. America was looking for fresh recruits, auxiliary soldiers from Brazil in its war with Germany. In truth they were little more than targets for snipers. Most of them didn’t return, my father included…” Her voice trailed off and her eyes fixed on a distant corner of the room. In the dim light, Rachel thought she saw a tear enter her eye.
“But I digress,” she said, bringing herself back. “Obviously, the war wasn’t very popular here. Some even were planning to push the Americans out by force. They never got the opportunity, sadly. A shaman, powerful in the mystic arts, acted first. He attacked the base and laid a curse on the forest that would turn men into beasts it they were there for too long. Before anyone could understand what had happened, he cast a final spell and died. We think that was when he separated us from the world, because from that day forward, every plane or boat we’ve seen has crashed against our coast. We used to try to salvage the technology, but not anymore, for fear of the shaman’s spirit.”
Rachel blinked. What? That was impossible, magic shamans cursing an island? It was just a freighting fairy tale, had to be. However, the way Clara spoke, the way it affected it her, it seemed like she was reliving memories. There was no doubt in Rachel’s mind that Clara thought it was true. But that didn’t change what was possible.
“Th-that doesn’t make any sense. Do you have any proof?” Rachel stammered out.
Clara met her eyes and her expression suddenly saddened. “The jungle. But do not travel there, proof is not worth your life, sweet girl!”
DAY SEVEN
--6 weeks after crash--“Pass me the bandage, would you.” Clara said, focusing on their patient, a young man with a large bite mark on his forearm. It was too large for a dog, or a wolf for that matter. Briefly, Rachel’s mind flashed over the beasts again, but she quickly dismissed it. She’d been here six weeks and she’s never seen or heard anything to make her believe in what Clara told her. It just wasn’t possible. That said, however, something was still keeping help from arriving on the island.
Probably pirates, she been telling herself.
“Bandage,” Clara said again, breaking Rachel’s thoughts. She quickly apologized and fished the bandage out of their dented medical box. By this time, she didn’t have a problem walking and her stump was healing over nicely. Now she simply acted as Clara’s nurse, helping around the village. It was definitely a blow to her self-esteem. Clara didn’t say it, but Rachel knew she didn’t need her. She said that Rachel’s knowledge about current medicine was invaluable. In reality however, that didn’t matter here. Rachel didn’t even know what half of these medicines were.
Clara finished dressing the man’s wound and send him off, telling to come back to her if his wound bothered him. The man hesitated, shot a look at Rachel, then left. Clara let out a chuckle.
“You know, through that whole time, he couldn’t take his eyes off you,” she said with a wide smile.
Rachel smiled herself, but also blushed a little. Since she’d been out walking around the village, she had attached a lot of stray looks. She told herself that it was because she was the only American. A comforting lie. She knew full well why the village men stared at her, they didn’t even notice her prosthetic.
“Are you sure you used enough disinfectant?” Rachel said, trying to change the topic. She only gave him a single pill, and only another three to last the week.
Sighing, Clara shrugged. “I don’t know, we’re starting to run out of medicine. We’ll see in a couple of days.”
“Well, we could get supplies at the hospital.”
“Absolutely not! I warned you about going into the jungle, didn’t I?”
“Would you rather us just run out of medicine? We’re already having to lower our prescriptions, what next? The doses, too?”
“Let me worry about that. I won’t have you dying for nothing! Understood!”
Rachel broke off eye contact and nodded. She hated how easily she just lied to Clara. That night, she’d make ready to head into the jungle. She was tired of being useless and the village need those supplies.
DAY EIGHT
--6 weeks after crash--It was passed midnight when Rachel saw the pale walls of the hospital. Moss had grown over its sides and what few lights still functioned flicked. She swallowed hard, gathered her courage, and pushed onward. She was tired of being useless. The villagers needed that medicine.
Suddenly, her foot caught a root and she flew forward. Instinctively, Rachel shot her arms out break her fall, forgetting she didn’t have both hands. Her prosthetic dug into the mud and without a firm base, her right hand slid out from under her. In a moment, her whole torso went tumbling down until her forehead smacked against another root. Ow… Stunned, Rachel didn’t move for a while, only rubbing her forehead.
Snap!
She heard something break a branch, then another, and another. The rhythm sounded like footsteps and her blood ran cold. She’d been walking through this forest long enough that she was sure that no villager would come out this far. Another survivor maybe? Yes, that’s probably it, after all it couldn’t be a–
Rachel’s mind stopped mid-thought as a strange and deformed silhouette loomed over her, wheezing deep and quiet breaths. The arms looked like pillars, reaching so far down into the underbrush that sh
e couldn’t see any hands. Long, wispy hairs danced upon its hunched over back and its face was pulled into an almost doglike snout. It walked with a limp, as though every step it took was agonizing.
Rachel couldn’t believe her eyes. Clara had been telling the truth, monsters did exist and one was standing mere feet from her.
The beast barely made it past her when it froze, its wheezing stopped. It lifted its head, sniffed, dropped its face against the ground with a thud, sniffed. Then, it slowly picked itself back up and twisted itself toward Rachel, The dim light of the hospital illumining the rotting flesh of its face. For a moment, time stopped, then the beast let out cry similar to human wail.
Rachel was on her feet in an instant and was sprinting through the trees. Behind her, the beast let out wail after wail as it tore through the bushes and thorns with ease. She didn’t look back, but from the sound she could tell it was getting closer. She ran harder.
After what felt an eternity of running, Rachel finally reached the hospital walls. There was a hole just large enough for her to fit through. God, she hoped she could fit.
She dived headfirst between the rubble, her foot just making it inside. However, the beast’s claw shot through after her, grabbing onto her ankle. She kicked and tried to pull herself away,
but it was easily stronger than she was. Rachel’s mind raced and her eyes locked onto a rusted pipe with an end broken off. Her hand scrambled for it and, with a twist of her body, jabbed it into the beast’s forearm. It wailed in pain and released her. She quickly scurried away from the crack.
Well, she thought. I’m in the hospital, now how do I get back out.
Beasts
Hospital/ BaseDAY NINE
--6 weeks after crash--Rachel pulled her flashlight out of her backpack and clicked it on. She was in was certainly inside a hospital room. The moss gave everything a dull green tint, but she’d seen enough operating rooms to know one regardless of wear-and-tear. A molded but still made bed sat in the corner, a counter and sink next to it, and the floor was a checkered pattern of white blue tiling.
She took a few steps further, her heart racing and adrenaline flooding her veins.
She couldn’t believe Clara was actually telling the truth. Beasts! Monsters, here? It was crazy, impossible. Magic was impossible!
Well, Rachel, you’re here. Might as well find the medicine too. She swore under her breath. Of course, this would happen, she always wanted to be “helpful.” Dammit.
The door to the room fell off its hinges with the tiniest push she gave and hit the ground and a loud thud resounded around throughout the halls. Rachel flinched and sank back into the room. If there were any beasts inside the hospital with her, they definitely heard that.
She was about to rush into the room across from her. She had get away from the sound, at least in some regard. However the echo of another wail turned her to stone. Too late, a beast had already heard it.
“Pissed!” a voice said. Rachel spun around to find a little girl, leaning out the closest. Thankfully, she appeared completely normal. “You can hide in here. Come on, before the beast sees you.”
Rachel didn’t need any more convincing that. In a moment, she was inside and pulling the closet door shut.
“You want to know how I know this is a good hiding place, miss?” the girl whispered to her. barely heard it. “Because when they ate all the others, they never found me.” The young girl said, raising her voice well out of a whisper. Rachel snapped her head over to her to shush her, but her eyes were only greeted with a skeleton.
Suddenly, it hit her. The girl never was found. She stayed hiding, too afraid to leave, and starved to death hiding.
DAY TEN
--6 weeks after crash--The beast left and Rachel waited until she couldn’t hear its footsteps before he left the closet. The villagers still needed that medicine, and whether she liked it or not, she was their best hope of getting any. She cursed under her breath as she began to search the hospital rooms, always keeping eyes and ears and open. She’d rather not have any more close calls.
Eventually, she found what she was looking for, the store room. Shelves of drugs filled the entire space and Rachel smiled despite herself. Before long, she had filled her backpack with as much medicine as she could carry. Finally things were going her way.
She was only just outside the hospital when she started to hear wheezing. Her heart sank. A moment later, another beast rounded the corner, the dim light above it casting dark shadows over its face.
It leveled its gaze at her and let out a wail, but a second later a loud bang sounded and its head exploded. Pieces of skull and brain scattered into the night as a few drops of bloods landed on Rachel’s lips. She quickly wiped them away.
“Don’t you move,” a voice said behind her. She turned around to see a man in a tattered white shirt with lean muscles aiming a rifle at her forehead.
DAY ELEVEN
--6 weeks after crash--The sailor pushed Rachel at gunpoint into a massive camp. Just walking past the makeshift gates, she could already count a few dozen people. Though the survivors here weren’t like the villagers Rachel had grown accustomed to. These people, like her captor, were dressed in rags, blood oozing out of fresh wounds, and their skin darkened with dirt. Some moaned in pain on the ground, other barked yells at each other like animals.
Are these other stranded survivors?
“Cap-captain.” The sailor said so quick Rachel almost didn’t hear his stutter. The man in front of them was hunched over and wore white sailing garb. “F-found er’ w-w-wa-wanderin the f-f-forest.”
The man, the captain, looked her up and down for a long moment. “We don’t need another mouth to feed, Jack. Kill her.”
“Wait, wait!” Rachel yelled. “I’m a doctor, I can treat your wounded.”
The captain looked back at her captor, Jack. “Is this true?”
“She-she was in-in-inside th-the hospital, sir.” It sounded as though saying any sentence was incredibly difficult for the man.
The captain smiled. “Well then, little doctor, you just bought your life. Lock her up till I think what to do with her.”
Jack jerked a nod and dragged Rachel to cage made of sheet metal. Before throwing her inside, Jack twisted her head and messily kissed her.
“Sl-sleep well, doc-doctor,” he said with a huge grin.
DAY TWELVE
--6 weeks after crash--Rachel had barely fallen asleep when she felt someone shake her awake.
“Get up. We need to talk.” an unfamiliar voice said in the darkness. Outside her cell, she could hardly see the black silhouette of a man. However, she couldn’t make out his face.
Instantly, she pushed herself off the ground. “What do you want?” she whispered, her eyes darting back and forth around the camp nervously. It was instinct. The night was too dark to see anything but the stars.
“I’m Cedric. I’m new here, like you, Rachel. Now, we have a plan but—”
“Wait, how do you know my name, and whose ‘we’?”
Cedric was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, “You have a friend here. Bastard, never stops talking about you actually. Short, blonde, doesn’t shut up.”
She realized who it was immediately. The world stopped. Rachel almost couldn’t believe it.
“Lloyd…” she breathed. “Where is he? How has he been? How many of you are planning escape?”
“Shhh!” Cedric whispered through gridded teeth. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, you’ll see him then. Until that happens, don’t say anything about this to anyone in the camp. Not even me.”
Shouldn’t be that difficult. She didn’t plan on making small talk with anyone here in the first place, and she couldn’t even make out Cedric’s features to recognize him.
Still, she couldn’t stop thinking about her brother. Lloyd. Alive.
DAY THIRTEEN
--7 weeks after crash--Rachel stood up after tending to another patient. He was probably her near twentieth one already, and it was barely past noon. Sadly, the man wasn’t any different from the other survivors. Deep cuts, bruises, a few broken ribs, bite marks, and completely out of his mind. All through the treatment he had been howling and barking at her like he was dog. She couldn’t help but pity him.
She quickly gathered up her equipment and shot a look over to Jack, telling him she was finished. He smiled a twitching grin and began walking her to her next patient.
Jack was her guard, both keeping other survivors away from her and keeping her inside the camp. Still, Rachel didn’t feel safe around him. As he walked with her, he wasn’t at all subtle about his advances. He’d stutter out flirts, glare at her body, rub her shoulders and neck. It took Rachel every ounce of conviction not to react. She couldn’t be stupid now, not when she was so close to finally seeing Lloyd.
Eventually, she worked her way to a young man, crude bandages wrapping his head and three of his fingers missing off his right hand. His skin was a tanned brown and he was lying face down in the sand.
Rachel rolled him over, steeling herself for another madman. Her patient said, “Hey, sis. Long time no see.”
Her eyes widened at that, and a huge smile burst across her face. It was Lloyd, here alive. Really alive. She wanted to throw her arms around him and hug him but he stopped her by putting his finger to his lips. He glanced at Jack.
“You’re alive.” Rachel whispered, taking the hint. “I—I thought you dead. Died in the crash.”
He shrugged, “Well, it’ll take more than a plane crash to take me out, eh?” He coughed and some blood leapt out of his throat.
“You’re sick.” She said. “What are the symptoms?”
“I don’t care. Someone is probably going to kill me before disease does anyway. There’s a reason you’re worth so much as a doctor, you know.”
“Yeah, I know Lloyd. But I won’t just watch you die.”
Lloyd grinned. Dear God, she missed him. “Hopefully, you won’t have to. Cedric told you about our plan.”
“No specifics.”
“Great, sounds like him. Alright, we’ll catch up later. Right now, pretend to fix me up. I’ll explain everything tonight. Promise.”
DAY FOURTEEN
--7 weeks after crash--Rachel practically floated through the rest of the day in a state of bliss. Six weeks ago, she couldn’t believe her brother was dead, now it was the opposite. Seeing him felt like a dream, a fantasy she’d been longing to live through. When Jack wasn’t looking, she smiled wide, even laughed a little bit. It felt strange to her, foreign, but she loved it none the less.
As she walked through the camp, treating patient after patient, she kept an eye to the sun, watching it descend. By now it was near sunset. Just a few more hours until she could see her brother again. It still didn’t seem real to her.
Finishing the stitches on another patient, Rachel pushed herself to her feet. Quickly, she hid her joy and turned around to Jack.
“He’s finished,” she said, her voice monotone.
He gave her a big grin and nodded fast. Then he jerked his head back, signaling her to follow. Jack tried not to talk much, she found. The only broken words he said all day was when he was flirting with her. For a moment, she wondered who Jack was before crashing here. Who any of these people were before they lost their minds. Then she thought about what would happen to her or Lloyd if they stayed.
She had to get out of this forest.
Rachel followed Jack back to her cell of sheet metal and he opened the door. Quickly, she stepped inside, eager to finally get away from him.
Behind her, she heard the door close and then the lock snap shut as well. She breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, all she had to do now was wait—
Suddenly, something wrapped around her throat and squeezed hard, cutting off her breath. She tried to scream but only a whimper came out. Struggling, she tried to pull Jack’s arm away but he was easily stronger than she was.
“Re-re-relax,” Jack whispered into her ear. “It-it’ll b-be over s-s-soon.” She felt his other hand inch toward her belt.
Dear God, he was going to rape her.
DAY FIFTEEN
--7 weeks after crash--Thinking fast, Rachel fired back an elbow into Jack's ribs. He grunted in pain, loosening his grip slightly. She took the opportunity to throw her head back, catching him in the nose. A sharp crack sounded and Rachel felt warm liquid run down her hair. Blood.
When she pushed herself away from him, Jack reacted quickly and threw a fist out into the dim light. Rachel had only just turned around and the blow hit hard in the jaw. Her chin snapped back to her shoulder and for a second the whole world was spinning. Jack was on her again, wasting no time. He swiftly wrestled her to the ground, pinning both her wrists to the sand. Then, smiling, he began kissing her.
Rachel gave fully over to her adrenaline, and pulled her stump out of the prosthetic and jabbed it into Jack's neck. He coughed into her mouth as she raised a knee into his groin. Then, with her hand, she picked up the metal claw and swung it as hard as she could into his face, aiming for his nose. From here, she could tell she had broken it. Jack's nose was twisted at a bad angle and blood was running down his face over his chin.
However, Jack was faster than she thought. In an instant, his arm shot up and blocked the metal. The prosthetic, feeble from age and rust cracked and broke with the impact. Rachel watched as she lost her left hand a second time. Meanwhile, Jack winced in pain for a moment, but quickly recovered. He flashed her a grin, nothing but madness in his eyes. He was loving this, the fight in her.
He raised another fist, knuckles white. Rachel's eyes widened and time slowed to a crawl. However, suddenly an idea entered her head.
With a simple thrust of her arm, Rachel buried the rusted and broken metal into Jack's throat. His face twisted with surprise, then pain, finally settling on anger. He let loose the punch anyway and it smashed into Rachel's eye, making her head go numb. Through blurred vision, she saw him ready another blow, but his arm dropped. Blood oozed out of his neck and just as her eyes refocused, he spat blood into them. It was his last act of defiance.
Then, Jack felt off of her, dead.
Rachel cursed out loud. Whipping her eyes, she pulled the broken limb out of Jack's still bleeding throat. Then, still avoiding looking at the wound, she pulled of his jacket and swung it around herself.
She couldn't afford to wait for Lloyd or Cedric anymore, not with Jack's body in here. She pulled the key to the cell out of his coat pocket and carefully stepped out into the camp, unguarded for the first time.